Page 46 of Modern Romance September 2026 Books 5-8

“I made a call tonight.”

“Oh?”

“Two-hundred and fifty million euros.”

I frown. “What?”

“That’s how much Louis’s father has tied up in investments in Siravelle over the next five years.”

The reminder is not a pleasant one. “I didn’t know an exact number.”

“That’s the same amount I deposited into an account tonight at Siravelle’s national bank. A dedicated sovereign development fund.”

My heart starts galloping wildly in my chest. “What?”

“Work with Louis’s dad if you want. But that money will be there, earning interest, for whatever you and Siravelle need.”

Emotion chokes me, renders me speechless for several long seconds. “Dominic…”

“I understand duty. Honor. And you were right. I haven’t thought of your role like that.” Amusement laces his voice. “Until you called me on my bullshit tonight.”

I choke out a laugh. “But all that money… I don’t know what to say.”

“I’ve been rich for a long time, Sophaya. I donate, but I don’t do anything intentional with my money beyond the Hawke Foundation.” He pauses. “I don’t have the same affinity for Siravelle you do. Not yet. But I like it. And I want to do this for you.”

I press my fist to my mouth. How am I supposed to stay strong, to keep him at arm’s length when he does and says things like this? “Thank you.”

Quiet falls. For a moment we exist, out of each other’s sight yet closer than we’ve ever been.

“You looked beautiful tonight.”

Oh Dominic. “Thank you.”

I think of him in his black tuxedo, the material tailored perfectly to his shoulders yet somehow still looking as if it’s just about to split because of the breadth of his insane muscles. His thick hair combed back from his face yet those stubborn strands still falling across his broad forehead. A wild beast allowing people to think he’d been tamed when really he was the one in charge all along.

“You looked very handsome.” I chuckle. “My mother thought my neckline was too low.”

“Too bad she didn’t see your dress from the masquerade.”

This time I laugh. “She would have had a heart attack. I saw it in the window of a designer near St. Mark’s Square, and when I couldn’t sleep—”

“What?”

I stop, bite down on my lip. “I was struggling to sleep. All the changes and pressure were already getting to me before the stalker started following me. And when I found that letter on my chair at the restaurant covered in shredded rose petals…” My chest clenches at the memory of it. “That’s why I started taking that herbal supplement. I was fine during the day. But at night I would…struggle.”

I can’t quite bring myself to tell him the full depths of my terror.

“I didn’t know.”

“It’s all right.”

“But it’s not.” His voice is firm. “Are you all right now?”

“I am. Tired and stressed,” I say in an attempt to lighten the mood. “But no more night terrors.”

When he doesn’t reply, I wonder if I’ve revealed too much. I’ve enjoyed our conversation tonight, grown relaxed and shared more than I had planned on. But did I cross a line?

And then he speaks.